


The Silver Fog

by force



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babysitting, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patronus, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8198866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/force/pseuds/force
Summary: The new DADA professor, Andromeda Tonks, pairs Harry and Draco together with the goal of both of them casting a corporeal Patronus. At the same time, Harry must learn how to care for baby Teddy, while working through the overwhelming reality of a world without Voldemort. Meanwhile, Draco deals with his family's fall from power, and the distrustful whispers of those around him.Originally for mxlfoydraco's 10k Drarry Fic Contest (Study Buddies), this fic ended up being too long by the first chapter alone--oops. (WIP)





	1. A Rainy Welcome

Harry followed his friends into the Great Hall, feeling like everything around him was happening to someone else. Hogwarts seemed untouched. The walls, their dark, wet stone, stretched up in towers as they always had. The lake, its surface rising in tiny pointed waves, was like dark velvet laid where it had always been. The trees grew from the grass and rocks in the distance, wind making their branches dance, just like always. 

But amidst this strange, stationary peace were signs that a darkness had touched the school, had held it in its cruel grasp. It was in the thestrals that pulled the carriages, more visible now than ever before. It was in the eyes of students whose gaze lingered too long. It was in the empty seats on the train, in the boats, the carriages, the tables.

Despite these signs, Harry’s friends were chatting as they walked.

“I can’t believe the work they’ve done! Look at this place--you’d hardly guess anything happened here.” Hermione had her arms wrapped around a bag that she hugged to her chest, peering up the rainy ceiling of the Great Hall, which cast a warm grey light down towards the familiar four tables. 

“Can’t imagine Filch swept all that up,” Ron chimed in as he led the way to the end of the table. “Probably just McGonagall getting the teachers to put the school back together.”

“It couldn’t have been _easy_ , though,” Hermione said. She took her seat, resting her bag beside her. “Even with everyone working on it, there was a lot of damage.”

As they spoke, Harry inspected the Great Hall. It was strange to be back, though the three of them were not the only ones who rejoined the Hogwarts class to make up their seventh year. He saw that the Ravenclaw table was filled with the most people, eighth years and younger students alike. Harry’s own table was full enough. Less than half of his year had returned, but the younger students filled the seats. The Slytherins were scarce.

McGonagall stood in front of the Hall, her chin held high as she claimed her rightful place as Headmistress. Her speech began, but Harry was hardly listening. He was focused on the table at the other end of the room, counting heads. It seemed like most of the Slytherins were younger ones he didn’t recognize, though he marked the return of a few familiar faces: Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson and a short, dark girl whose name Harry had never learned. Was that it? Harry narrowed his eyes as he scanned the table, looking for the striking blond hair of… there he was. Hidden under a wet, black hood was Draco Malfoy, eyes downcast and knuckles white. 

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy since his family’s trial over the summer. He’d been called in as a witness. Harry could remember with stomach-wrenching clarity the way Malfoy’s cold eyes bored into him, how he sat stiff and small between his parents. He could also remember Lucius’s tension, and Narcissa’s carefully blank expression. Everyone in that room had their eyes on him as he recounted the moment Narcissa lied through her teeth to her very own Dark Lord, but it was those three--it was Draco--who really struck him.

Malfoy, as though he could tell he was being watched, looked up suddenly at Harry. His first instinct was to quickly look away--but no. He’d saved Malfoy. Saved his family. He’d look at him if he wanted.

Their eyes were locked for a very long minute. Draco was the first to look away, evidently unnerved by Harry’s unapologetic stare. Eventually, someone nudged him and Harry tore his eyes away and trained them on McGonagall instead.

“--Before we begin the Sorting, I would like to introduce our new teachers this year,” the Headmistress spoke, gesturing to the table behind her. “Times are changing, and with them, our staff. Allow me to introduce our new Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Eliza Gosland.” Harry clapped along with the crowd as a woman dressed in a blue suit stood up and smiled before quickly seating herself again.

“Blimey, did you see her outfit?” Ron turned towards them and asked. “Do you think--?”

“ _Yes,_ Ron,” Hermione spoke in a hushed tone. “No need to gossip. She’s a Squib, it was in the paper.”

“With this addition to the staff, I’m pleased to announce that Muggle Studies has been deemed necessary to the education of every young witch and wizard. We must strive to educate ourselves on our nonmagical neighbors in hopes that past mistakes are never repeated.” McGonagall paused to take in the room. It was quiet at first, but then an enthusiastic clapping from the Hufflepuff table spread to the Gryffindors. Ravenclaw was next to join, and Harry’s eyes snapped back to Malfoy as the Slytherins slowly joined in. Malfoy didn’t clap. Harry was not surprised.

“Isn’t this great?” Hermione enthused. “Harry, we’ll finally get to teach Ron something about the Muggle world!”

“Don’t expect me to be grateful that McGonagall added another class to my schedule!” Ron protested, earning him a dramatic eye roll.

“Your support is much appreciated,” McGonagall continued as the Hall quieted down. “Next, I would like to introduce our newest Transfiguration professor, Hestia Jones.” Harry recognized the witch now bowing as one of the Order members he’d met briefly. “She is also taking my place as Head of Gryffindor House.” Professor Jones pumped a fist in the air, earning her a loud cheer from her House.

“Naturally, this leaves our Defense Against the Dark Arts position to be filled by the talented Andromeda Tonks.” Harry blinked in surprise as McGonagall introduced Andromeda. She did not stand, and he wondered how he’d missed her. She was seated at the very end of the staff table, next to a floating blue cradle.

Hermione turned to him, and started speaking quickly. “Harry, why didn’t you say Teddy would be here?” 

He shook his head, dazed. “I didn’t know.” 

Ron looked incredulous. “Can you have a baby here?” Harry shrugged in response. 

McGonagall then ended her speech with a simple thank you and invited the first years up one by one to be Sorted. Harry expected the stares that came from his new Housemates. He’d only become more famous after the Battle of Hogwarts. At least he had practice with ignoring them.

The feast appeared soon after, and the trio indulged. While Ron and Hermione argued over whether eighth years should get special privileges, Harry looked up from his chicken, across the Hall, to spot Malfoy again. He was surprised to see him staring up at the staff table, right at Andromeda Tonks.

Had Malfoy ever met Andromeda before? Harry had never really given much thought to Draco’s extended family. It was easy to forget how closely related they all were. Malfoy stared up at Professor Tonks like he was trying to disassemble her in his mind. Andromeda was leaning over her cradle, cooing at the baby inside. Harry decided to get back to his dinner.

Before he knew it, the feast was over. Even the last morsels of pudding disappeared from the plates. Harry followed the rest of his House up to Gryffindor Tower. They listened to the Fat Lady recount a couple exciting moments she witnessed from the Battle of Hogwarts as patiently as possible before pushing their way in and passing out in their respective beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta readers, Motion, Dizzy, and Zed!


	2. Fight at Breakfast

Ron and Hermione spoke idly as Harry stacked his plate with pancakes. The ceiling was less grey this morning; a web of blue peeked through and shined on the students. Harry tried to clear his mind similarly of the fog that had set in. He ate slowly, joking with Ron about the state of his books--the copies poor Ron had bought this year were turning green in their age.

“Mmf!” Ron mumbled through a waffle. “Look.” He pointed down the table. Hestia Jones made her way up, juggling a mess of papers in her hands.

“Oh, our schedules!” Hermione held out her hand expectantly as their new Head of House handed the slips of parchment to the three of them, continuing along the row. Harry propped his up against his juice, taking a bite of his food as he read it. After Ron examined his own, he leaned over to read Harry’s as well, quickly comparing the two. 

“Excellent, we’re taking everything together!” he said, with an enthusiastic slap to Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, haven’t you always?” Hermione teased, reaching for Ron’s pumpkin juice and taking a sip. She was smiling, but then her eye caught something above Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, good morning, professor!”

Harry turned around quickly and found himself looking up at Andromeda Tonks. She was tall and sharp, but her eyes were soft as she peered down at him. Harry still couldn’t quite get over how much she resembled her eldest sister, especially now, with her light brown hair fading into a traitorous shade of black at the roots. 

She was carrying a small bundle of soft blankets in her arms and did not speak right away as Harry saw her.

“Oh, er, good morning,” Harry greeted her awkwardly.

“Good morning, Potter.” She adjusted her grip on the bundle in her arms, which had just cooed. “I was wondering whether you had gotten my letter.”

“Letter?” Harry thought back on the summer with a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d received a great many letters since Voldemort fell, and without Hedwig there to deliver the personal ones, he hadn’t been motivated to open any of them. “I….”

“No matter.” She was peering down her nose at him, and something about the action made Harry feel quite small. “I’ll just ask you now. Obviously, I’ll be very busy this year, with lesson plans and the like. I need someone to help me with Teddy.”

“Help with Teddy?” he repeated, feeling rather dumb and overwhelmed.

“You are his godfather, after all,” she reminded him. “If you were a bit older, he’d be in your care entirely.” Harry felt a hard nudge in his ribs. He shot Ron a look and then turned back to Andromeda. 

“Sorry, professor, of course I’ll help--” _nudge!_ “--take care of Teddy. Did you want me to take him now?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Harry felt relief wash through him. “I’ll let you know when I need you.” She studied him for a moment, then smiled. The expression warmed her whole demeanor. “Thank you.”

Harry watched her go, wondering what he’d just gotten himself into, when Ron rounded on him.

“A _baby_ , Harry? Really?” 

“Well, what was I supposed to tell her? ‘Sorry, I don’t really fancy the idea of carrying around my drooling godson, thanks anyway?’” This did not seem like a good enough excuse for Ron.

“What about Quidditch? Are you gonna babysit if we have practice?” he argued. Harry pictured himself flying above his teammates, a baby strapped to his chest as he looked for the Snitch.

“Well, obviously not….” 

“And how’re you gonna get any homework done?” Ron pushed.

“Oh, really, Ron! You just don't want a baby around because you don't want to help!” Hermione scowled at her boyfriend. Harry wished he had his Cloak so he could disappear from the conversation as it continued into an argument over Quidditch and homework and babies. Harry doubted that they were talking about him at all.

Tomorrow, classes started. First up he had Potions. Harry dreaded facing Slughorn now that he had destroyed Voldemort and imagined the portly man would want him to pose for a portrait or something. On top of that, Slughorn was still under the impression that Harry had inherited his mother’s Potions prowess, and without the help of Snape’s old book, he wasn't sure how he was going live up to that expectation.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice piercing its way into Harry’s range. 

“And why should I? The class is completely pointless.” Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy debating loudly with Theodore Nott. “I’m finishing school, but I don't need a N. E. W. T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Harry watched Malfoy scoff as he entered the Great Hall. Nott spoke in a low voice, unlike Draco’s, which carried across the Hall. 

“She’s not even an Auror!” Malfoy’s sneer was clear on his face. “How am I supposed to take her seriously, trying to teach us with a baby in her arms? Dumbledore was shit, but at least he didn't hire grieving mothers just because he pitied them.”

Hermione was listening too, evidently, because when Harry glanced over at her, she was positively bristling. 

“How can he--? The nerve! She’s his aunt! Tonks was his cousin!” Hermione blurted, and Harry agreed. It was such a dramatic change from his silently brooding demeanor the night before, too, that Harry couldn’t help but suspect Malfoy was charading for some reason. It reminded him of some flamboyant bird.

“We already knew what a prat he was,” Ron reminded them, shaking the whole thing off. Harry’s eyes trailed the two Slytherins as they crossed the room to their table and sat. Malfoy had dark circles under his eyes, giving the impression that he hadn’t slept. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t much fancy witnessing our savior being _fawned_ over every day in class!” 

“Ignore him,” Ron advised under his breath.

“Maybe that’s why McGonagall didn’t bother getting a real professor. She expects the Chosen One to teach us everything we need to know!” Harry noticed Malfoy glance over at him. When he saw Harry’s eyes on him, he seemed to grow a bit taller. “I’ve heard he’s got a Quick Quotes Quill charmed to sign his autograph over and over. Can’t let his hand cramp up, y’know….”

“That’s absurd,” Hermione said with a shake of her head, gathering her stuff up to make a quick exit.

“When did we get on this topic?” Harry heard Nott groan loudly. “Haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“What topic? Look, you’ve got your eggs right here.” Malfoy glanced over to the Gryffindor table again, his eyes getting a dark look. “I just don't see the point. The Dark Lord’s dead. What are we supposed to be fighting against? Everyone's locked away--”

“Not _everyone._ ” Harry was standing, and everything about him was locked on Malfoy. He found himself speaking loudly, and Malfoy was staring at him. He wasn't the only one. “You think because Voldemort’s dead, we don't need to defend ourselves?”

“Oh look,” Malfoy drawled. “Lesson’s already started. Please, Professor Potter, teach the rest of us how cast a shield charm. We're hopeless without you!”

Harry’s stomach swooped and his hand crumbled an undeserving napkin up into a wrinkled, papery wad. He tossed the napkin away and reached into his pocket, whipping out his wand and pointing it all the way across the Hall at Malfoy.

“Harry! Really!” Hermione scolded. “Classes haven't even st--”

“ _Calidus aero_!” Harry shouted. A few second years screamed and ducked. Malfoy had his wand out and with a flick of his wrist he blocked the hex. Nott sat down and got started on his eggs.

“Looks like you already know how to block,” Harry growled. “But why'd you bother? Defense is pointless, right?”

“Mate, the Head of House is coming over,” Ron warned.

“I don't need to be taught how to block you, Potter,” Malfoy sneered. “You're so predictable.”

Harry eyed the teacher coming towards him and spoke quickly. “I get it. You don't care about Defense because you think _I’ll_ keep saving your life.”

“What?!” Draco was pink, looking around at the others, most of which were staring at the commotion. 

“Well, don’t count on your savior to be there next time.” Harry hissed and put his wand away, causing Professor Jones to pause where she was standing, waiting to see if the strife would work itself out. Harry stepped over the bench, backing away from the table. “I’ll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Malfoy.”

He left the Great Hall, ignoring as best he could the eyes burning into the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta readers: Motion, Dizzy, and now Giorgi!


	3. Dark Marks

Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught in the same classroom it always was, and Harry was curious to see its transformation this year. When he entered, he was hit first by the smell. It was like chamomile. The classroom was well lit through the windows, flecks of dust dancing in the warm light. The small dragon skeleton hanging above the desks--small for a dragon, that is--was a pearly white, polished so it shined. Along the walls sat strange old objects behind glass cases, lively plants, dressers and shelves with books upon books. There wasn't a speck of grime to be seen anywhere.

Overall, it was not unpleasant. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat themselves close to the front with Neville, one of the few Gryffindors in their year that had returned with them. He nodded at them with a smile, and they all took out their books and waited.

Most of the “eighth year” classes were merged with seventh, but this one was an odd exception. Even the regular classes were being divided by the new professor into smaller sections. It seemed that she wanted the smallest classes possible. Looking around, Harry could see that the large classroom was empty of students save for the four Gryffindors.

“Where is everyone?” Harry asked, looking distractedly around the classroom.

“Maybe we’re the only ones taking it,” Neville responded with a shrug.

“Don’t be silly!” Hermione chided, opening her book and flipping through it. “We all know from yesterday that at least Theodore Nott enrolled in the class.”

“Oh, that’ll be a load of fun.” Ron rolled his eyes, slouching over the table. “Four of us and Nott, getting real chummy.”

It was then that two high-pitched voices resonated from the corridor into the room. Harry turned around to see Pansy and the other Slytherin girl enter with their elbows linked. Their voices lowered to a hush as they noticed the table of Gryffindors eyeing them, making their way quickly to a table on the opposite side of the room.

“That makes three,” Neville said. “If you're right about Nott.”

“Malfoy will be here, too.” Harry had a stony expression. Ron frowned at him.

“I don't think you changed his mind, mate. Hate to break it to ya.”

“He’ll _be here._ ” Harry insisted. He wasn't sure why the thought that Malfoy might not show to DADA bothered him so much--and by the looks of it, his housemates were wondering the same--but he was sure Draco would come. Under his breath, he muttered. “He owes me.”

He noticed Hermione studying him closely for a moment, thinking she might say something, when Neville spoke up.

“Acting weird, wasn't he? Yesterday?”

“Who, Malfoy?” Ron asked. “Not really.”

“You didn't see him here last year. It was like he took a vow of silence,” Neville stated, his face dark as he remembered Hogwarts the year before. “Not that it stopped him from casting spells.”

“So he's back to his old self,” Ron said, picking at something on the table. “Got off scott-free with the rest of his family. Why shouldn't he be happy?”

Harry could hear the tone of resentment in Ron’s voice. It wasn't really a surprise. The Weasleys and Malfoys had hated each other long before Harry even knew what a Weasley or Malfoy was.

“Smug git,” Ron muttered as the doors swung open again. This time Nott entered, all curly hair and cheekbones. He stepped into the room and took the surroundings in carefully. Harry didn't take his eyes off the door.

Malfoy entered, then, his head held high. He caught Harry’s eye for a fraction of a second before looking away like it never happened. Nott was sitting away from the girls, and Draco stepped over to join him.

Harry looked over to Ron and raised his eyebrows. “What’d I tell you?” he whispered. Ron groaned and rolled his eyes.

“I’m glad you could all join us,” a voice sounded from the balcony. Harry whipped his head around, scolding himself for startling so easily. Above them stood Professor Tonks, wearing a long, black coat with buttons that went all the way up her front, right to her chin. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, the wild locks tamed. This emphasized her large eyes, and drew out all the differences between herself and her sisters. Behind her was the silvery vision of a tigress, larger than Harry imagined one would be. It sat patiently, eyes glowing a soft white.

“Before we begin today, I’d like to inform you that you are safe.” Harry listened to the woman speak, her speech a strange one. _This was a classroom_ , Harry thought, _who would assume they weren't--?_

One glance across the table stopped his line of thought. Neville was pale, and his face stoic. It occurred to Harry that horrible things must have happened in this room only months earlier.

“If any of you ever feels the need to speak to a teacher, I can promise you confidence and support.” Andromeda continued, her voice soft, and carrying easily in the utter silence of the room. Her patronus stood, jumping silently off the balcony and prowling a large circle around the room. “I am casting a Taboo around all of us as we speak. This ensures that everything that happens in this room will stay in it.” The tiger emitted a soft white trail behind her, lighting up the faces of the two Slytherin girls.

“What are you going to be having us do that we can't talk about?” Parkinson asked distrustfully.

“This will be nothing like last year, Miss Parkinson. The Taboo is for your own reassurance.” Andromeda called her patronus back to her side, and as it glided past Harry, he felt a magical sense of calm wash over him. It quelled, a bit, an anxiety he hadn't even realized he’d been harboring.

“My approach to Defense with you will be quite different than what you have experienced before. I believe that you all already know everything you need to pass your N. E. W. T.s. This year, we will be focusing on defense against a different kind of darkness.”

Harry was lost. A different darkness? What kind of spells would they be learning? What sort of enemies would they be fighting?

“I can only imagine the horrors every one of you endured this past year,” Andromeda continued. “Enlisted in a war you never asked for. Torturing your fellow students. Going underground. The darkness found you, and it hasn't gone anywhere.”

“Oh, did you not get the news?” Malfoy’s snide voice chirped up. “You-Know-Who is dead. The ‘darkness’ has been thwarted.”

“I will not interrupt you when it is your turn to speak, Draco.” Andromeda said coolly. “The darkness I speak of, if it is not painfu--if it is not _clear_ , is the mark it left on you.” Her eyes lingered on Harry’s forehead as they swept over the room. He looked over his shoulder at Malfoy. He had his hand on his forearm, rubbing it nervously.

“Will she get to the point?” Ron hissed to Harry. “Even Snape’s intro wasn't this long.”

“Let's begin by introducing ourselves anew. Pretend the last seven years never happened. This is a clean slate for everyone. We are, after all, new people coming out of the war.”

She descended from the balcony and stood at the front of the class, gesturing for the Slytherins to take seats at the table closer to the front.

“We will go around, listing our name, patronus, boggart, and a trait about us that make us feel proud. I will begin. My name is Andromeda Tonks. My patronus is a tigress. My boggart is loneliness. I am enduring.” She took a breath, like it was not an easy thing to say. “Next, counterclockwise.”

Neville cleared his throat. Harry could see by the way his eyes were darting around the room that he was trying to think fast.

“My name is Neville Longbottom, er…. I don't know what my patronus is. I haven't seen a boggart since I was thirteen, and…. I am brave.” Ron clapped Neville approvingly on the arm.

“Very good. Continue.”

“My name is Ron Weasley. My patronus is a dog. My boggart is….” He glared down at the table, then looked back up determinedly. “A giant spider. I'm loyal.”

“A valuable trait,” Andromeda nodded.

“Hey Weasley, I think I saw a spider crawl under your desk.”

“Shove it, jackass.”

Hermione was up next, but she seemed to be dreading it. As Harry watched, her whole body looked to be growing and shrinking with her breath.

“My name is Hermione Granger. My patronus is an otter. My boggart is… failure. I’m proud of….” She trailed off, like she was considering her options, before deciding to play it safe. “My mind.”

Professor Tonks nodded. She turned expectantly towards Harry. Everyone was looking at him. He saw Parkinson narrow her eyes.

“Er, I’m Harry. Potter.” He paused. The silence threatened to swallow him whole. “My patronus is a stag. My boggart is….” A dementor. Was it still? So much had happened, but the very fleeting thought of that coldness made his heart stop. “It’s a dementor.” He let out a breath. Speaking up in class wasn't always so hard.

“And?” Andromeda did not move her attention away from him.

“What?”

“A trait you're proud of, Mister Potter.”

“Oh, right. I'm, erm….” He looked over at Ron and Hermione. Ron raised his eyebrows. “I’m a good Seeker.”

“Yeah, and he _killed_ Yo--Voldemort!” Neville spoke up, then smiled at Harry. Harry looked away, feeling cold suddenly--distant.

He felt Hermione’s hand press against his shoulder. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, which were creased with concern. He shook his head, mouthing at her that he was fine.

“I believe you’re up next.” Andromeda looked over at the dark-skinned girl who’d come in with Parkinson. She flipped a lock of hair out of her face and sat up straight.

“My name is Tracey Davis. I don’t know my patronus. My boggart was a giant piranha--shut up, Pansy, you were white as a sheet!” she hissed at her friend. “I’m proud of my spellwork.”

“Bet she got a lot of practice in wand-waving last year,” Harry heard Ron lean over and mutter to Neville.

“Right,” he replied bitterly.

“My name is Pansy Parkinson,” Parkinson wasted no time as soon as Davis’s turn was up. “I  don’t have a patronus, and my boggart is a rat--”

“--She’s so terrified of them, she thinks she saw one turn into a guy in the bathroom when we were like twelve!”

Ron looked at Harry and Hermione with wide eyes.

“Shut up? No one asked? Anyway.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “I'm proud of my heritage.”

Nott sighed tiredly, and looked to Malfoy. “Your turn.”

Harry looked away from the Slytherins, suddenly fascinated by the light, flecked pattern of the desk. If he unfocused his eyes, he could see a dog.

“My name is Draco Malfoy. I don't have a patronus. My boggart is a lethifold. I'm proud of my potions skills.” He turned to Nott, who uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

“Theodore Nott. Don't know my patronus. My boggart is a casket. I’m proud of…. I’m trying to learn how to make wands, since there's this huge gap in the market now. I’m learning fast.”

“Very good. Now, I know most of you have had no opportunity to learn how to cast a patronus.” Andromeda paced slowly in front of the class. Her hands were folded behind her back, and her expression was thoughtful. “I understand that most professors would never expect any of you to be able to master such a high-leveled, complicated spell. However,” she spun to face the students. “You all have performed extraordinary magic during the war. You had to do so. And the patronus, though difficult, is the most powerful defense we have. It is made of hope, of happiness. As long as you have that inside you, I believe you can produce a patronus with the best of them.

“You will be assigned a group project this year. I will pair each of you up, and you will help each other learn the charm. By the end of the year, I expect everyone in class to be able to show me a patronus. Groups will be graded together, so even if you have already mastered the spell, you are not off the hook.”

“Pairing us together? With who?” Davis leaned forward in her seat, her expression tight.

“I will announce the pairs at the end of class. First, please, everyone circle up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I work every day now, and this is the longest chapter so far. Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> And thanks to Motion and Giorgi for beta reading!


	4. Fear Itself

With the desks pushed out of the way, the eight students stood in a large circle with Professor Tonks standing at the head of it. Set on the floor, in the middle of the circle, was a small wooden chest. Theodore Nott leaned lazily--though Harry thought that it was not without effort--against a desk. Pansy had one hand on her hip and the other on her wand. Tracey was tying her hair back in a high bun to keep it out of her eyes. Draco was fixated on the doorway, as though he thought someone might peek in. All of them seemed to be trying to distance themselves from each other.

On the opposite side of the circle, the Gryffindors stood straight and tense. They looked like they might be preparing for a fight. Standing across from the Slytherins, it was a hard impression to shake. Professor Tonks frowned, and seemed to think the same thing.

“Longbottom, switch with Parkinson,” she commanded. “Potter, switch with Davis.” With some defiant hesitation, they obeyed. Neville and Harry stood beside each other on the other side of the circle, exchanging looks. 

“Nott, get between them.”

“Gladly.” Nott stepped over, separating Harry from Neville. Harry now found himself standing between Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. This didn't feel good. 

Tension high, they all looked towards the chest in front of them. It rattled slightly, but each shake became stronger and louder as they watched, as though it could feel their attention.

“In your third year, Remus Lupin taught you all the spell ‘ _ Riddikulus _ .’ The idea behind that is to create laughter--joy. This negates fear. Boggarts are made of fear.”

The chest shook again.

“As you have deduced, we will be dealing with a boggart today. I encourage you all not to use your wands.” Harry looked around at his friends. No wands? Against a boggart? “No, if you can, I would like you to try to drive the boggart away with only your emotions. Face your fears. Look your fears in the eye and spit on their feet. Not literally, please, I just cleaned.”

They were supposed to defeat a boggart without a wand? No one in the circle seemed too sure about this. Harry looked across at Ron, who was scowling in concern.

“You’re not looking well,” said a voice from beside Harry. He startled and turned to face Nott, who was looking down at him. “Worried?”

Was he trying to bait him? Harry shrugged dismissively, trying to relax his muscles enough to appear unphased.

“Okay, just asking.”

Bump. Bump.

He could hear Malfoy tapping his shoe anxiously beside him. Harry glanced over and saw that Malfoy was a delicate shade of green, his eyes screwed shut.

“I will begin.” Andromeda stepped forward and waved her hand for everyone else to step back. “After me, if you would like to volunteer, you may step forward once the boggart retreats back into the chest. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

She waved her arm upwards and the chest flew open. Nothing happened. Harry leaned forward to get a look in the box. It was full of dirt. 

The dirt spat itself up and onto the floor. It kept coming, like someone was shoveling it into the room. The patch was dark and wet, fresh. As it appeared, it spread out into a six foot rectangle. Something emerged from the end of it, something smooth and white. It rose from the dirt like a tooth from gums. 

It was a tombstone, and although Harry couldn't read it from the angle he stood at, it was not hard to guess the names written there.

Andromeda held her head high as she glowered down at the marble. He could see her hands shake and her eyes water. She closed them, and took a long, deep, slow breath.

“I am not afraid. I have so much to live for.”

The boggart sank in on itself, the dirt and stone flying back together, into the chest. Harry was impressed. Was it that easy? They didn't even need to laugh?

The room was quiet and still as the box shut itself and Andromeda stepped back to the edge of the circle. Harry looked around to see if anyone would step forward. 

“Me next,” announced Ron, stepping up with a glint in his eye. “A boggart. Easy.”

“Confidence is good,” Professor Tonks said as she waved her arm at the box, unlocking it again. “But it’s okay to be nervous.”

A long, hairy leg reached out of the box. Ron braced himself. Another identical one soon followed. The lid opened upwards as a tarantula the size of a bear pulled itself out of the chest, which was much too small to accommodate it. 

This wasn't just a giant spider--it was an acromantula. Harry's mind was flooded with visions of the things, an army of them, swarming the school grounds from the forest, attacking everyone fighting for what was right. 

Ron looked like he was holding his breath. The acromantula let out a slow clicking sound from its mandibles and stepped forward.

“Dinner, dinner, dinner….”

Ron stood his ground. Harry saw that he had his wand gripped tightly in his fist, but he did not raise it from his side. 

“You can't hurt me….” He said it, but he didn't sound too sure. He looked to the professor, who stared back, nodding.

“You--no!” Ron ducked as the acromantula lunged at him. Harry whipped his wand out and stepped closer. The boggart noticed him and its exoskeleton shifted unnaturally.

“Mister Potter, this is not your fight!” Andromeda said. “Step back into the circle!”

He didn't. He pointed his wand at the boggart. Ron looked over at him from where he was ducked on the floor and clenched his jaw. He saw Ron get to his feet and stare the spider down.

“I’ve got this, Harry! It's just a boggart!” 

Harry hesitated. That thing lunged at Ron, practically knocked him over, and Harry didn't want to step back. He wanted to fight it.

“You’re confusing it, Mister Potter,” Professor Tonks spoke with a leveled tone. “Step away.”

The beast clicked loudly again, pointing its venomous fangs out. It made to take another go for Ron’s head when it started to change. Its legs melted into dark fabric. It shrank down as though the spider itself was turning into something more human….

“For fuck’s sake!” 

Harry felt himself yanked back into the perimeter of the circle by the back of his shirt. He floundered, looking to the side to tell off whoever had just grabbed him--Malfoy.

His words melted in his throat, replaced with bitterness. His heart was pounding.

“Have to save the day, don't you?” Malfoy sneered. 

“You should thank me for it,” Harry snapped back at him.

“Enough!” Professor Tonks snapped. 

Ron was standing and staring the boggart, now fully returned to its acromantula form. He had to do this on his own. Harry watched as his sickened expression changed into a determined one. 

“I’ve faced worse than you…” Ron said it in a dark hiss. The spider lunged at him again, but this time turned to sand before it could make contact. It fell to the floor, the particles sliding back into the chest.

“Wonderful, absolutely wonderful!” Andromeda applauded. “Just like that!”

With a clear desire to prove herself, Tracey Davis stepped forward. The chest creaked. Twitched. She stared down her nose at it.

“Come on, boggart--let’s fill this classroom with giant animals.”

But it was not a piranha that came from the box. Instead, it was something’s withered, old hand. It pushed the box open and reached up towards the ceiling. Its skin was slick and pale. The flesh of the thing was shrunken down to the bone.

The hand clawed at the floor, finding leverage and pulling itself up. Harry could see the top of its head, only a few strands of long, stringy hair glued to the skin. An Inferius emerged from the wood, dragging itself out of the chest and onto the floor with a low, creaking breath.

“Oh…,” Davis stumbled backwards, her skin glistening with beads of sweat. The body stood on four legs, much like the spider had. Each limb was twisted out of its socket, bent strangely at every joint. Its sunken eyes stared up at Davis, lips shriveled back in a rotten grin. 

“Get  _ back _ !” she shrieked, waving her wand at the body. It slunk forward, one hand twisted backwards, its jaw opening slowly.

“Center yourself!” Professor Tonks instructed. “Remember where you are. Remember what this is. What can it do to you? We’re here.”

She was shaking, pointing her wand at it.

“ _ R _ - _ Rid-- _ ” 

Then there were hands on Davis’s shoulders, clamping on them from behind. Parkinson had decided to insert herself into the situation. 

“Come on, Tracey, remember the dead mouse?” Harry could barely make out Parkinson’s words as she muttered them into her friend’s ear. “You had to get rid of it for me? It's the same.”

It didn't look the same, the human corpse that was crawling horribly towards the Slytherin girls. It twitched unnaturally, and reached its arm forward to grab at Tracey.

Tracey reached up to her shoulder and grabbed Pansy’s hand.

“You can't hurt me!”

Suddenly the monster fell onto its front, its leg stretched out behind it. It was moving backward, towards the chest, as though being dragged by something invisible. It disappeared into the box as the lid closed on top of it.

“Eugh…” Harry heard Neville grunt sympathetically. 

“Wonderfully done, Miss Davis.” Andromeda nodded. “Our friends can be a powerful source of strength.”

What?! Pansy Parkinson could run up and help her Slytherin friend, but he couldn't help Ron? Harry was visibly fuming as Hermione stepped forward. Her shoulders were squared, and her breathing was carefully controlled. Harry watched as she faced the chest, eyes narrowed with nerve.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a loud  _ pop _ as a man in blue Ministry robes appeared in front of Hermione.

“There you are, Granger,” the man spoke in a low voice. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Excuse me?” she said in disbelief. “I--” The figure cut her off by extending an open-palmed hand. 

“Your wand,” he demanded. Hermione gaped at him. 

“Who are you? How did you get--” Her words died off as she focused on him. “You don't need my wand.”

“Don't try to resist, or I will have to place you under arrest.” The man’s voice spoke almost robotically.

“The confiscation of Muggleborn wands is illegal!” Hermione pushed, clutching her wand tightly. “After the Second Wizarding--”

“After the rise and reign of our Dark Lord, all stolen wands shall be confiscated and any who resist will be fed to the dementors. Is that what you want?”

“That's ridiculous!” Hermione spat. “I fought with the Order of the Phoenix, with Harry Potter, and he--”

“--Is dead.” The man did not budge. Harry was starting to find this interaction too uncomfortable to watch. 

Hermione glared at the boggart with tears welling in her eyes.

“Then why am I not dead?” Hermione’s voice was stark and clear despite her wet cheeks. Harry felt a stone sink in his stomach. It was difficult to stand upright.

“You? Why would we bother?” The man’s expression changed into an amused smirk. “What difference did you make?”

“Hermione….” Ron called her name out softly. She blinked, looked at him, and then set her teeth before turning back to the boggart.

“You're not real,” she stated, inhaling deeply. “You're a liar. You're not real. That could never happen.”

The man laughed and then twitched. His mouth was too wide. His neck spasmed. 

The boggart made a grab for her wand and she whipped it away. It screamed and fell apart, into a strange mix of limbs and fabric, flying back into the chest.

Hermione was breathing heavily, face still wet. She wiped her eyes off on the back of her sleeve and stepped back into the circle.

“This is a good example of how many forms fear can take,” Andromeda said quietly. “You did a fantastic job, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded a little, looking down at her wand. Harry looked at her for a minute in concern, before deciding it was time to get his turn over with. He made to step out of the circle--

\--But Nott beat him to it. He didn't have his wand out, and he rubbed his hands in front of him in anticipation. From right beside him, Harry could hear him muttering to himself.

“Bring it on, bring it on.”

As Harry had come to expect, all was silent for a moment before the boggart came to life. This time, a tall, beautiful woman appeared. She was like something out of  _ Witch Weekly _ . She wore a blue suit with a dark cloak, and a Ministry pin on her chest. Her heels clicked as she stepped up to Nott and held out her hand.

Harry watched in curiosity as Nott took it, giving it a quick shake. The woman took a scroll of parchment out of a hidden pocket in her cloak, smiled at Nott, and unravelled it.

“Theodore Nott?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“Your father is Everett Nott?” Her eyebrows perked as she spoke. Nott seemed impatient, rolling his eyes as he told her yes.

“I have some unfortunate news. This morning, your father died of old age in Azkaban.”

Nott closed his eyes, taking a moment before answering her.

“And?”

“Prisoners are required to write a letter and will to their families in case of circumstances such as this. Therefore, I am legally obligated to read this to you:

“Addressed to Theodore Nott on the third of May, 1998. Dear Theodore, The cold cells of Azkaban are worse than I remember. I know I will not live to see you again. With the Dark Lord gone, it falls upon you to restore the family name. Remember everything I taught you, son. Remember what it means to be a Nott.”

Harry found that this, too, was hard to watch. It felt like a strange glimpse into a private moment in a stranger’s life. He looked away, across the circle. Pansy was frowning, her mouth slightly agape, as she stared at Theodore. Ron stared at the floor, seeming to agree that all of this was too much.

The boggart’s letter ended with a bitter tone: “Keep the family pure and alive. Make me proud. Do not fail me. Sincerely, Everett Nott.”

The woman held her chin high and smiled at Nott, eye-to-eye.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. She handed him the will. “You can go now.”

The woman seemed surprised by this, opening her mouth as though to argue.

“What? What else?” he challenged. The woman hesitated. She staggered, wordless, and then broke into pieces, back into the chest. There was a shriek, and the parchment in Nott’s hand disappeared.

What kind of boggart was that? Harry supposed Nott must be afraid of his father dying. He had to remind himself not to feel guilty. Nott’s father was a Death Eater. Nott’s father deserved Azkaban.

Theodore stepped back into the circle. Andromeda studied him for a moment before nodding quietly.

“Very good. Loneliness is quite daunting.”

“You don't get it,” Nott spat. If she was offended by this, she had a remarkable poker face. 

Now it was his turn. Harry stepped forward, jaw clenched. He thought, maybe, he should put his wand away--but he couldn't stomach the thought of it. Standing out from the others, wand tight in his grip, he watched the chest twitch.

Then the top opened, and out from the box rose a cloud of dark, tattered fabric. A skeletal figure floated before him, cloth draped over its face. With each cold, rattling breath, it sucked its hood against the outline of its gaping maw.

As the dementor glided towards him, it took a deep breath. Harry could feel its effect on him immediately. The dementor sucked the warmth of the room into its lungs. Harry’s bones were stiff. He felt as though his mind was filling with ice.

He did not hear the screaming of a woman. Instead, he heard deeper voices, Sirius and Fred, laughing with their last breaths. He heard a high pitched hiss, slithering through his head,  _ kill the spare….  _ He heard voices, a man and a woman, speaking proudly of their newborn son. He heard Ron’s words, cutting him, telling him he could never understand. He heard the strangled voice of Malfoy, choking on his own blood. He heard Snape’s voice sound above all the others--“ _ Raising him like a pig for slaughter-- _ ”

And he heard the hissing again, like water in his ears:  _ if death is nothing, kill the boy….  _

“Harry!” someone called out to him. Harry’s vision clouded. His ears rang. He was suffocating. The dementor drew ever closer. He raised his wand at it, trying to find a happy thought, trying to focus….

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ !” he shouted breathlessly. Nothing happened. No happiness, not a single dying spark, could be found in his head.  _ Voldemort is dead _ , he tried to tell himself, _ he’s dead…. You should be happy…. _

He grabbed onto that thought and held it close: “ _ Expecto Patronum _ !”

He couldn't… couldn't do it…. He stumbled back, skin clammy and heart pounding too slowly. He thought for a moment that he'd lost his glasses with how blurry the boggart had become, until hot tears spilled over and down his cheeks. 

He didn't have time to be embarrassed that this was happening in front of the Slytherins. The ringing had gotten worse, the room was spinning, and Harry saw someone jump in front of him and push him back into the circle.

The cold fog was gone. It had been replaced with wretched shrieking, coming from a child on the floor. Harry didn't recognize him, but he wore a Hufflepuff uniform and looked to be a first year. The kid thrashed and screamed and cried. Harry didn't understand where the dementor had gone, or what was happening to this kid, until he looked up and saw that it was Neville who’d jumped to his rescue.

Neville's face was white and he was scrunching it like he was in pain. Harry watched as the child on the floor changed, morphing into a taller figure with long red hair and a voice that carried for miles as she screamed. 

Harry stepped backwards, trying to look anywhere but at the boggart and failing. Ginny--fake Ginny,  _ boggart _ Ginny--was crying out for help, crying for Neville to save her.

And then she wasn't Ginny. As Harry watched, the Boggart changed again. This time it was Luna, her curly blonde hair a mess around her face. She was bleeding from the temple like she’d hit her head. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was still only for a moment before screeching in a way Harry had never heard.

Then the boggart changed once more, into another young student Harry didn't recognize. Neville seemed to snap out of his horrified stupor, stepping towards the boggart.

“That is never going to happen again,” he growled. The boy went limp, like all the life had been sucked out of him. “Never. Again.”

The boy fell apart, like he was made of sand, and every piece flew back into the chest.

Neville stepped back into the circle, looking shaken. Everyone was quiet. No one wanted to go next.

“Are we out of volunteers?” Andromeda inquired, her voice soft. “Remember that it's just a boggart. It can only hurt you if you let it.”

Pansy Parkinson closed her eyes and took a step forward. Harry noticed a crease between her brows he’d never seen before. She opened her eyes and glared at the chest. 

There was a bang, and then a man appeared, crouched in the box. He rose, slowly, to his feet and stepped out, into the room. The entirety of him was locked onto Parkinson as he stepped towards her.

Harry remembered the last time he'd seen that matted grey mane, ripping open the throat of Lavender Brown. She had not been the only student savaged by Greyback that night.

The werewolf’s face couldn't be seen by Harry from the angle he was standing at, but he could see Parkinson’s. It was a grimace of fear and disgust, her eyes narrowed and watering, her lips pulled back in horror. 

Harry couldn't see Greyback lick his lips, but he could imagine it. Pansy’s expression told him everything he needed to know. 

“What a fresh sliver of meat,” Greyback growled, his step becoming more of a saunter.“You're not afraid of me, are you?”

“Get away from me,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed like a cat staring down a rottweiler. 

“Think I’d rather get closer.” Greyback lunged forward and grabbed Parkinson by the wrist. She screamed, whipping her wand out and pointing it at his chin.

“I just want to play, love.” Greyback pulled her close up to him. “You look delicious. Soft….”

Harry saw Hermione close her eyes and take a few deep breaths. This boggart was disgusting, and it was strong. It was much stronger than the one they’d faced five years ago. 

Or maybe their fears were stronger.

Suddenly there was movement, and Harry whipped back around towards Parkinson and Greyback in time to catch him making a grab for her leg, unbalancing her so she fell onto her back. The boggart Greyback laughed and towered over her, and she aimed her wand at his chest and shouted.

“ _ Impedimenta _ !”

The werewolf was pushed backward, but stayed on his feet. Pansy quickly stood up and pointed her wand at him again.

“ _ Crucio _ !”

The curse hit Greyback in the shoulder, but appeared to have no effect on him.

“ _ Parkinson _ !” Professor Tonks said sharply. “Absolutely no Unforgivables are permitted at Hogwarts! Never again!” Her fury melted quickly into concern. “If you wish to stop, riddikulus will do.”

Parkinson almost looked to be vibrating. She glared at the boggart with a great hatred in her eyes.

“Something funny.  _ Riddikulus _ !”

The spell hit the boggart and the effect was immediate. Greyback fell to his knees, howling in pain and collapsed onto the ground. He shrieked and twitched and writhed in torture. Finally, Parkinson laughed.

Greyback flew back into the chest in fragments, and the silence in the room fell like a heavy blanket. Harry found himself staring at Parkinson, not knowing what to think.

“Pansy,” Andromeda said quietly. “I’d like to see you after class.” Pansy looked like she was going to cry at any moment.

There was only one person left.

Malfoy had a look to him like he might vomit. He held his wand close and stepped forward, face utterly white. The boggart twitched in its box, and then dark smoke rose from the cracks, collecting above the chest, tall and manlike. 

The man stepped out of the smoke, leaving it behind like a doorway. Harry recognized him immediately. Tall, thin, with long, white-blond hair falling behind his shoulders, Lucius Malfoy’s normally sharp and noble features were hidden behind dark bags and stress lines. 

Just stepping towards Draco was enough to make the younger Malfoy step back. But now, instead of appearing sick or scared, Malfoy seemed to be made of stone. He had no expression. His shoulders were pushed back. 

“Draco,” the boggart spoke with a mock-patience. It was alarming, the level of accuracy a boggart could have when impersonating a real human being. Harry supposed that it wasn’t coming from the creature, though, so much as from Malfoy.

Draco said nothing. Lucius stepped forward, eyelids heavy and dark with the labours of Azkaban. Draco was not making eye contact.

“Look at me.” Lucius breathed the words, tilting his chin up to stare down his nose at his son. “Look at what you've done to me.”

Draco furrowed his brow, lifting his eyes towards the image of this father. Harry had always thought the Malfoys all looked alike, but in this moment they seemed opposed, light and dark. Not that Harry would ever describe Draco as  _ light _ . Maybe just… comparatively.

“Is this what you wanted? To get rid of me?” Lucius’s lips curled in a sneer. “To see me in Azkaban robes again?”

“Father….” Draco’s voice was breathy and quiet. The corner of Lucius’s lip quirked upward, and the smugness of it infuriated Harry. He wanted to remind Draco that this was not his father, and maybe he would have, if only his desire not to be witnessing this at all wasn't twice as strong. The very last thing he wanted was to remind Malfoy that the whole class was watching.

A shock of sound jolted Harry out of his thoughts. He blinked, focusing back on the Malfoys. Draco’s left cheek was blossoming in pink, and the boggart’s hand dropped back to his side.

“Draco!” Andromeda stepped into the circle, looking tense and disturbed. She loomed behind the boggart, staring past it, intensely at her nephew. “Remember, it's just in your head.” The boggart did not react to her. It was like she wasn't there. Draco’s cold eyes flicked up towards her in a flash, then back down, like he could barely stand to take his eyes off the boggart.

“You could have killed him, Draco,” Lucius’s voice was a hiss. “You could have killed him--you had his wand.” 

Draco said nothing. He took a slow step backward, but Lucius matched him, stepping forward with narrowed eyes.

“And Potter”--Harry felt his heart nearly stop at the mention of his name--“We had him, we could have handed him over to the Dark Lord!  _ All _ you had to do was say so. You knew it was him!” The boggart’s voice was raised up in fury. Harry remembered accusing Draco of the same thing just a few months ago. Something sick and heavy sank in his stomach.

He could see Lucius’s knuckles pressing white through his skin, the way Harry used to see them grip at his cane when he was angry. 

“I didn't know. We had to be sure.” Draco didn't blink, locked on the boggart. 

“You can't lie to me, son. You knew it was him.” Lucius tilted his head. “You were biding time. Why?”

“I wasn't.”

“Is it hatred? Do you hate your family? We protected you.” Lucius’s scowl was shadowed, his limp hair curtaining the sides of his face as he leaned forward. “After everything we did for you.”

“No--”

“You cared about  _ his _ safety more. More than mine, more than your  _ mother’s _ .”

Harry felt his face grow hot, and he wished he wasn't standing directly next to Malfoy. He looked away, around the circle. Some people were watching the scene hungrily. Others studied their feet. There were a few looking right at Harry. 

“I just wanted to be sure!” Malfoy’s voice cracked, and he swallowed dryly. “I was trying to protect us--I  _ hate _ him! I wish I'd said something!” Now his voice was shrill and dry, desperate. He was looking at his father with wide eyes. “I wish he were  _ dead _ !”

“Forgotten where you are, have you?” Harry spat, a fire burning in his chest. Next to him, Malfoy startled, throwing him a panicked glance. Then his expression tightened, nose crinkling at him. “It's a boggart,” Harry reminded him. “Not your bloody father.”

“Why don't you get your big head out of it, Potter?” Draco snarled. “Going to jump into Weasley’s stand off, and now mine too?”

“Oh, I’m not jumping in, Malfoy. Feel free to continue.” But Malfoy didn't seem eager to resume his dialogue with the boggart. “Maybe you're glad, though? Don't want to talk to Dad?”

The boggart had its eyebrows raised.

“Shove it,” Draco said, glowering. “We don't all need a hero.”

“But you do,” Harry answered back, eyes equally narrowed.

“That's enough.” Professor Tonks looked offended that such a discussion had begun during her lesson. “No more pointless bickering.”

“Yes.” Lucius spoke up, smiling. “I feel I’m quite satisfied.” The boggart turned away from them then, and, bewilderingly, made its way back into the chest.


End file.
